absence makes the heart grow fonder
by brokibrodinson
Summary: Haytham most assuredly does /not/ pine. Unabashed conhayth fluff. Oneshot. Complete.


**A/N:** Fill for a kink meme prompt:

"All these Haytham/Connor non-con/dub-con prompts and fills are amazing buuut I feel so bad for poor Connor! So this anon wants something sweet to counterbalance that. It can be slightly fluffy or downright teeth rotting, I don't mind either way. Sex is appreciated, but optional.

I just really want lots of caressing and/or sweet words and/or kisses. Make this anon feel bubbly and happy inside!"

* * *

He'd been gone longer than usual this time, Haytham thought, frowning as he stared idly through his window at the night sky.

Connor had embarked on another of his naval endeavours aboard _The_ _Aquila_; missions that usually took no longer than a week. This time his period of absence was nearing a _month._

It wasn't that he missed the foolish boy, Haytham assured himself. It was more that he... Haytham paused, searching for an excuse that wasn't there. He scowled.

Fine. It was possible he was a _bit_ worried. Connor seemed to have an aptitude for getting involved in all sorts of trouble – trouble that he was not always capable of escaping through his own abilities Haytham thought, the memory of his son with a noose around his neck flashing through his mind.

He blanched. Surely Connor wasn't... dead?

The thought made him grit his teeth. Why should he care if the assassin was dead? By all accounts he meant to kill him himself, when the time came.

Despite his thoughts, Haytham couldn't resist asking the harbourmaster about sailing conditions the next day when he happened to pass by.

"Aye, it's been poor weather at that," the weathered man replied. "Don't envy any poor bugger trying to raise sail these past few weeks, they're surely at the bottom of the ocean by now."

Haytham thanked him, continuing on his way and trying not to panic. Surely Connor had more sense than to try and sail through a storm? Or if he did not, surely his first mate Faulkner did.

The thought distracted him from his work that day, and several more days beyond that. His men quickly learned to give him a wide berth those days as they found him in a foul temper whenever they gave their reports.

Another week passed, and then another and no word of the half-native assassin ever reached his ears. Anger turned to regret, then cold acceptance.

Connor was gone.

* * *

There was a collective sigh of relief from captain and crew as _The Aquila _glided into port at New York.

Against all odds, they'd made it home.

The exhausted crew were filled with new energy as they efficiently prepared _The Aquila_ to be docked at the harbour. Connor smiled as Mr Faulker delightedly shook his hand and promised he'd take care of the full damage report and repairs. Thanking him, Connor disembarked, allowing himself a sigh of relief as his feet hit solid ground.

The mission had only been meant to clear one of several trade routes but a fierce storm had blown them way off course – and caused some significance damage to their beloved ship – forcing them to take shelter further south until the waters were calm again.

It was good to be home. He was eager to see his father again.

He set off in the direction of Haytham's estate, hoping the older man would be as happy to see him. The thought made him pause. He knew he'd been away for a long time, longer than he could ever have predicted.

Connor hoped Haytham hadn't feared the worst.

He grimaced, but began walking again. He'd have to face him eventually.

* * *

Having been let into the house by a startled member of Haytham's house staff, Connor waited patiently as she knocked on the study door.

"Yes?" Haytham's voice was as imperious as ever, but he sounded weary Connor thought with a stab of unexpected guilt. The servant eyed Connor, unsure of how to announce him.

"Connor," he offered.

"Connor's here to see you, sir," the servant repeated obediently, opening the door wider.

Haytham laughed mirthlessly. "Very well, send him in then."

The servant ushered Connor through, silently closing the door behind herself to give them some privacy.

Connor stood quite still by the door, hands clasped in front of himself. He was nervous, he realised, staring at the floor. So much time had passed since they had seen each other; was he still welcome here?

A shocked intake of breath surprised him into looking up. Haytham was standing behind his desk, expression disbelieving.

"Are you real?" he demanded.

Connor smiled hesitantly. "Yes," he replied simply.

He didn't move, rooted to the spot by Haytham's intense gaze as he circled his desk and approached him. Silence fell over the pair as Haytham simply stared as though trying to convince himself that Connor was really there.

Slowly he raised a hand as though he was going to stroke Connor's cheek. Realising, his hand dropped back to his side and he scowled.

"Where have you been?"

"I am sorry, father. There was no way to send you word." Connor began to explain what had befallen _The Aquila _and had just reached the part where they had docked at a southern port in the tropics when he was interrupted mid-sentence by Haytham stepping closer with a frustrated growl and kissing him.

Haytham made no effort to try and disguise his desperation, but instead let it consume him. Connor did not resist as his tongue invaded his mouth, taking, tasting. His arms wrapped around Connor in a possessive grip, keeping him close. The kiss became sharp and punishing, his teeth closing on Connor's bottom lip.

They pulled away for air, Haytham taking a moment to admire Connor's swollen lips and flushed cheeks. "Next time, send word," he commanded harshly, pushing him towards a wall.

"I will," Connor agreed breathlessly, gasping as his back collided with the solid surface.

"Hmm," Haytham eyed him speculatively, then stiffened in surprise as Connor reached forward and dragged him closer, initiating a hungry kiss of his own.

That was enough to set Haytham off again and he crushed Connor against the wall with his body, wanting to feel more of him. Taking advantage of Connor's pinned state, he took the time to ravish his mouth as if trying to consume him, to possess him and keep him close.

Eventually the fury left Haytham and he seemed content to simply hold Connor to himself, trembling slightly.

* * *

That night after they'd undressed for bed, Haytham pulled Connor down onto the mattress and hovered over him as though committing the image of him to memory.

"I must confess I feared the worst," Haytham murmured quietly. He paused, chuckling slightly. "I never thought I would say it but I am glad to see you safe."

Connor snorted, pushing lightly at Haytham's shoulder. "Getting soft, father." He sobered. "I am sorry for making you worry."

Haytham smiled wryly, bending down to press a soft kiss to Connor's lips. It was unusual for Connor to be kissed so tenderly – Haytham seemed to prefer rough efficiency, like with most things – and it touched him with a strange intensity that made his heart swell with unexpected affection.

Moving down a bit, Haytham began to map out the planes of Connor's body with gentle kisses, starting at his throat and moving down his chest to his hips. He seemed to make a study of him, making note of each scar and scratch scattered across his bronze skin.

Apparently satisfied that Connor still had all his limbs intact, Haytham moved back to his side and reached down for the blankets. As his hand gripped the thick fabric, a strong arm curled around his waist and tugged him back down next to Connor, blanket and all.

Somewhat bemused, Haytham nonetheless did not resist as Connor held him close, nestling in against his chest. Instead he pulled the blanket over the top of them both before enfolding Connor within the circle of his own arms.

Connor made a small pleased noise, eyes closing of their own accord. Now that he was lying down it occurred to him how tired he was, his body wracked with exhaustion from his long journey.

Feeling warm and safe, Connor was asleep within moments, his even breaths dancing along Haytham's bare skin.

Haytham pulled back so he could look at him, a warm smile pulling at his lips as he gazed upon the peaceful countenance of his son.

"I suppose I must hold some degree of fondness for you after all," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the boy's brow.

Connor barely stirred, so Haytham pulled him close again, his eyes drifting closed as he surrendered to sleep himself.

* * *

**A/N: **It really isn't that easy to write fluff for these two! Probably because they are Kenways and can never be happy haha.

If you like conhayth I post the more explicit stuff on my AO3 (Archive of Our Own) account under the same name (brokibrodinson).

Feel free to hit me up!


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